The heart of Africa, Vol. 1 (of 2)Schweinfurth, Georg August
Science
The heart of Africa, Vol. 1 (of 2)
Schweinfurth, Georg August
Africa, Central -- Description and travel; Schweinfurth, Georg August, 1836-1925 -- Travel -- Africa, Central
It is not in the least below the most abundant tropical districts of
the New World in producing timber trees. Trees and shrubs constitute
quite a fifth of the entire production, and in the woods of the Bongo
the variety of foliage is everywhere astonishing. Any tracts covered
by a single species are altogether rare, and would exist only within
the most limited range. This uniformity of Tropical Africa in
comparison with the enormous space which it occupies, and the striking
want of provinces in the geography of its plants which it displays,
are the results of several agencies. On the one hand, it arises from
the massive and compact form of the whole; and on the other hand, by
an external girdle which keeps it shut up, so that it is not
penetrated by foreign types of vegetation. This girdle is made by
currents of the sea and long tracts of desert (the Sahara and
Kalahari), and encircles it entirely. In the direction towards Arabia
there is, as it were, a bridge into the regions of India, and, indeed,
the Indian flora has a great share in the characteristics of its
vegetation. The greater number of the African cultivated plants, as
well as nearly all their associated weeds, have been, beyond a doubt,
derived from India—a conjecture, equivalent to a prophecy, which Rob.
Brown had formed at a time when little was known of the vegetation of
Central Africa.
Already have I expressed my happiness at having thus reached the
object of my cherished hopes—my satisfaction at thus finding life to
be with me an idyll of African nature. My health was unimpaired, and
never before had I been less hindered in prosecuting my pursuits. I
felt alone in the temple of creation. The people around me were
somewhat embarrassing. Their wickedness, with its attendant impurity,
stood out in sad contrast to the purity of nature; but it did not much
disturb the inner repose of this still life. In sickness everything is
sad, and the craving for home is not to be suppressed; but whoever, in
the robustness of health, can imbibe the fresh animation of the
wilderness, will find that it stamps something of its unchanging
verdure upon his memory; his imagination will elevate it to a
paradise, and the days spent there will enrol themselves among the
very happiest of his life.
[Sidenote: AN ABANDONED SERIBA.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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